


Joker's Game (Working title)

by BlackArticFox



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blackmail, Challenges, Games, Jeremiah vs Edward, Jokes, Light gore in later chapters, M/M, Multiple Pov, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Post-Canon, Riddles, Threats, Traps, basically trying to outsmart one another, ecco is alive in this, planning, post 5x12, some humor attempted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-03-06 16:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18854500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackArticFox/pseuds/BlackArticFox
Summary: Seven weeks after breaking free from Arkham, Edward Nygma is living with Oswald Cobblepot once again, enjoying his freedom and planing for the future. His peace is ruined, though, when he recieves a mysterious package that has a challenge ready for him and he could either accept it or lose something important from his past.Just when he's decided to give a big step in his personal life, there comes this dangerous game that halts his plans. Refusing to lose, he promises himself to find the culprit -Jeremiah Valeska, and teach him that no one uses the Riddler for their amusement.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm nervous!!!!! This is my first Gotham fanfiction, I'm really into the fandom right now and didn't want to let this idea pass without giving it a try. I want to thank everyone at the Gotham Fandom Discord for supporting me, especially my beta, [Zebra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221blackandwhitestripes/works), for helping me fix my writing and encouraging me to do this.
> 
> I'll add more tags later on, maybe more characters and pairings if I come up with something once I detail more my outline. In the meantime, hope you enjoy!

Ten years can do a lot for a city –particularly a city that almost had to be reconstructed from the ground up. So many changes all around: There were new buildings and cars on the streets, better technology, and fresh administrations. And, of course, the mysterious, unconventional character that had joined Gotham’s notorious list of weirdos. Only, this time, the creature now known as “Batman” by the public, had been helping to _capture_ Gotham’s rogues instead of joining their lines.

Edward’s first meeting with the vigilante had been less than pleasant, and had ended up with Oswald and him hiding away in one of Penguin’s safe houses that had survived the bombing _and_ the renewal of the city.

The anxiety had them up most of the night, time they used to discuss Edward’s escape from Arkham. If Oswald hadn’t been the one to get him out, who had? And what did they want with him? Gordon had assumed right away that it was all Penguin’s doing –to the point he’d had Oswald followed from the moment he stepped out of Blackgate. He hadn’t been the only one to think so, Ed himself had confessed as much before his companion admitted to having no responsibility in the incident.

Oswald had also confessed to him what he had done that night before finding him, and was sure he was as much a wanted man as Ed was. So, with barely an hour of sleep, they had sat up to watch the 5:30 news together on the old-fashioned television to get a better idea of what had transpired last night.

 _“Jeremiah Valeska has escaped custody.”_ Were the first words to escape the anchor and Ed’s abdomen tensed involuntarily as he kept watching _“Last night, Valeska was accused of the kidnapping and attempted murder of Barbara Lee Gordon and the attempted murder of Commissioner James Gordon and socialite Barbara Kean.”_

“When did that happen?” Oswald asked, astonished.

“Some time after I was caught,” answered Ed through his teeth.

 _“Jeremiah Valeska had been held in Arkham for ten years prior to his escape last night. He was imprisoned after blowing up the bridges that connected Gotham to the mainland_ – _”_

Ed’s mind suddenly stopped focusing on the news as a revelation came to him. Jeremiah had escaped the same day he had, and had been able to do a lot of damage in a matter of hours –after being catatonic for ten years? It was no puzzle: The creepy maniac had fooled everyone, including him! He had been nothing but a diversion to allow him to escape Arkham and get his plans into motion!

 _“According to Commissioner Gordon, a caped crusader who resembled a bat appeared just in time to save him and his daughter from Valeska. The criminal was unconscious when he was taken into custody but managed to kill the two officers escorting him and escape before they could return to the GCPD precinct.”_ Oswald and Edward shared a horrified look. Not only had the same bat who had tied them to a pole saved Gordon –and his _child_ – from certain death, but Jeremiah was out on the streets, possibly planning his newest attack. Ed felt a shiver crawl down his back.

_“It is believed that he might have something to do with the disappearance of the woman known as Ecco, who aided him in the plot of poisoning Gotham’s air a decade ago and was last seen by Barbara Kean at the old Sirens’ Club. She was presumed dead after Valeska shot her in the mouth but the body is yet to be found.”_

“Oh, God.” Oswald’s eyes opened so wide his monocle fell onto his round belly “I can’t believe he’d do that to his closest ally.”

“I wish I could say the same.” Was Ed’s reply, his gloves squeaking under the pressure of his fisted hands “It was him, Oswald, the one who gave me the explosives and instructions last night.”

“But, how could he trick you?”

“It was a moment of weakness.”

It hadn’t been a good answer, but it was much better than the truth. How could he admit that he had allowed his eagerness to meet with Oswald again to cloud his judgement?

It was embarrassing.

In retrospect, he should have noticed that the letter wasn’t from Oswald as soon as he opened it. He had known the man for years! If the instructions that were very much not Oswald’s MO hadn’t tipped him off, then the letter should have; he always preferred to write everything by his own hand.

The worst part was that it had been his fault that they’d used Oswald to fool him. He had told Jeremiah plenty of stories about the Penguin when he was bored and wanted to mess with the “vegetable”. He had babbled on and on without a care, giving Valeska enough material to impersonate Oswald to a T. They had used him! It was degrading! And he was ashamed he had fallen into a trap he helped set so unwittingly.

_“Please, if anyone has information regarding his whereabouts or comes across him, refrain from any kind of contact and call the GCPD immediately. He is hazardous, insane and, possibly, armed; his capture is Commissioner Gordon’s top priority.”_

As if they hadn’t been on edge already. At least, it had been somewhat of a comfort to know Gordon’s efforts were focused mainly on Jeremiah.

 _“Unfortunately, Jeremiah Valeska isn’t the only criminal to have escaped Arkham last night,”_ the anchor continued heavily as a picture of Ed appeared next to his head _“Edward Nygma broke out after a decade behind bars and attempted to blow up Mayor Aubrey James at the Wayne Enterprises Gala. His plans were thwarted by the police before they became fatal, but he managed to escape custody twice.”_

Ed had to snicker at that, twice in one night; the GCPD was still full of useless brutes.

 _“Should anyone see him, do not engage and call the police. He is dangerous and mentally unstable.”_ Ed growled deep in his chest; if they didn’t need to keep watching the news, he would break that screen it into a thousand, tiny pieces. The nerve of that colorless newscaster to call him that!

A few minutes later, Oswald’s name was, finally, mentioned.

 _“Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot is back on the streets after his ten-year sentence in Blackgate. The former kingpin and mayor of Gotham declared that the first thing he’d do…”_ The story had continued in a rather dull mood for two minutes before it switched to something about Lex Corp in Metropolis.

Ed had exchanged a look with Oswald. Where was the news that dictated the Penguin as a wanted man? It had to come up at some point, right?

They had waited for the whole hour and a half for the report. It never came.

_“This has been all from Gotham at Dawn, thank you for watching. My name is Jack Ryder and I hope you have a rising day.”_

“Are you sure it was James Gordon you held at gunpoint last night?”

“Of course, I’m sure!” Oswald snapped. “I don’t get it, I thought he would jump at the chance to have me back in Blackgate.”

They stayed silent, unable to comprehend the reasons why the commissioner hadn’t blabbed about Penguin. It was unexpected… but favorable.

With one problem out of the way, they moved on to try and fix Edward’s situation.

Oswald did a quick job of finding the price of Arkham’s current administration to get Ed a brand new Certificate (Gotham may have changed, but the people remained the same) so they could move into the Van Dahl mansion together. It had been damaged during the bombing but Oswald had people working on it while he was in Blackgate and, nowadays, it looked as if nothing had ever happened to it.

It seemed being King of a prison came with lots of benefits, like: finding new subjects behind bars who had gangs outside to command, and being able to bribe guards into letting him make money out of the “unfortunate accidental deaths” within the building. Of course, the Penguin would make the best of it even behind bars. Oswald Cobblepot wouldn’t be King of Gotham if it were otherwise.

Now, free again, he had a considerably smaller but functional army along with money rolling in from small businesses. He had, also, recovered his rights over the money and properties from his good old days.

Still, despite his connections, Oswald hadn’t been able to find henchmen he trusted enough to be inside the house yet. No one even came close to the safety he had felt with Gabe or Butch or Zsasz, so most of the security personnel were keeping watch over other properties being rebuilt, while just a handful of people stayed on the mansion’s grounds. The fear of being attacked in there had long passed –after all, if someone wanted to get at them, they would have surely done it by now. In lieu of armed men, though, Oswald and Edward had an assortment of guns and knives hidden all over the place. At least they felt safe with those around. Just in case.

But, given the presence of Gotham’s newest hero and the fact they were now free of any charges; they decided to take a break before moving forward with their plans to take over the city. Oswald managed to buy his old lounge back and they were working on rebuilding it as a legal business to have something to fall back on should anything happen.

Besides, they had only been free for seven weeks after ten excruciating years, they could put off the risk of arrest for a few more weeks if it meant they could roam around as they pleased and, most importantly, not being separated again.

It had hurt. More than they could dare to admit.

Ed’s mind and heart became a convoluted mess every time he remembered the moment he had _finally_ laid eyes on Oswald after a decade apart. After the marathon of endless, lonely days with only his memory to survive, the sight of him in that limousine had taken his breath away. To be fair though, he was always breathless when he saw Oswald after being apart: be it in the forest or at his apartment’s door, inside Arkham or before its gate, trapped in cages or within the Iceberg Lounge, under the tall ceilings of City Hall or among the candlelight of the library. No matter the place, the first thing out of his mouth would be the oxygen in his lungs –a sigh, a word, a chuckle; it was inevitable.

He was dumbfounded that it had taken him so long to realize what that pattern meant. He had only just found out the truth behind his skipping heartbeat and uncontrollable smiles the day they had helped save the city; when he had given up his chance to leave Gotham in order to stay with Oswald after he was told to follow his heart. He understood the feeling of fear and affection in his chest after Oswald had sacrificed his eye to save him from a grenade. He knew why he couldn’t bring himself to stab Oswald’s back when he had him in his embrace and hoped it was the same reason the other man let him live as well.

_Worthless to one, but priceless to two._

It had taken him months to gather up the courage to say anything to Oswald. Six months.

He had been taken away before he could utter a word. And now, dumb as it may seem, he was back where he stood all those years ago. He kept telling himself it was not the time, not when Oswald was so busy with his own plans, but he knew it was a blatant lie to cover up his newfound fear. Oswald had thrived in Blackgate, but what had he done in Arkham? Bully a few inmates and manipulate all the others while being constantly recaptured during his escape attempts. Yes, that’s the kind of man the great Penguin should accept as his lover!

What a joke.

Nevertheless, there was a voice inside his head that told him to strap on a pair and confess at last. Oswald had never wanted him to change or to give more than he was willing to share; he had always accepted him – _loved_ him- for who he was. Who was he to say that it was any different now? If Oswald still wanted him, then Ed was ready to give himself completely to the older man without question if it meant he could have Oswald as well.

It was decided! He had waited long enough and had to do something before Oswald came to the same conclusion, otherwise, he might lose his chance forever.

Fate had always been somewhat of a bitch to him though, and that day, it decided that his feelings would have to wait a little longer.

Just as he was about to join Oswald for breakfast, the doorbell rang and he yelled he’d get it in hopes of getting on Olga’s good graces (How the woman was still willing to work for Oswald was a complete mystery –as was the fact that she still didn’t like Edward in spite of his best efforts to win her favor). There sat a box, wrapped in purple and green striped paper on the doorstep. It was his invitation to a game.

A game he promised himself he would not lose. A challenge with no room for error: One wrong move and he would lose everything.


	2. Worth my Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a challenge Ed's invited to. He could refuse to play. He decides he can't refuse. A simple test to see his worth it's just the start to find his north.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one is an easy one. Jeremiah has to make sure Ed deserves his attention and Ed has to find a reason to accept the game. I promise things will get more dangerous as the story moves, I'm of the idea that an introduction has to be light.

Dread filled Edward the moment he saw the package –it was unlike anything he had felt in years. The box was no bigger than thirty centimeters per side, a perfect cube except for the lid from which a black tag hanged with a single, green question mark printed on the center.

He looked around. Not a single soul within sight, including the guards that were supposed to prevent things like _this_ from happening. Where the hell were those morons?

Ed took a deep breath and reached for the box as if it were a bomb –which it very well _could_ be. He moved it slowly close to his ear. No ticking, no breathing; nothing.

Keeping the package at arm’s length, he opened the lid on one side slowly, his heart in his throat. The faint light of the morning sun shone on something inside. Was that glass? A closer look into the half-opened packet confirmed it; it was a beaker.

“Ed! Who is at the door?” Oswald’s call almost made him drop the box. He quickly closed the door and hid the package in the new closet next to the entrance, just in time to see his housemate hobble into the foyer.

“Just some kid offering his gardening services. I sent him away.” He lied, wearing his most convincing smile.

“I see, thank you.” Oswald seemed content with the response “Come, then; breakfast is already served.”

“I’ll be right there,” Ed answered to Oswald’s back and waited until he was sure the man was closer to the dining table than the door to open the closet.

He opened the lid completely this time. There were two beakers inside, both of which he recognized right away: He’d used them countless times as simple glasses during his meals in a place and time that seemed lost in the past.

There was a black note in-between the containers. The note was handwritten with ornate and delicate penmanship, the white ink jumping against the background.

 

_One day, a man brought a worm home to feed his wounded pet bird._

_“I refuse to eat it the way it is now!” Said the bird._

_“How do you want to eat it then?” Asked the man._

_“I want it in small pieces that I can swallow!”_

_“Ok,” the man walked to his closet and pulled out a small bomb,_

_“I must warn you, though; this is going to get messy!”_

_P.S. Food is served at ten._

 

Was this supposed to be a joke? Who would be so weird to send him something like that with his and Oswald’s colors?

It suddenly hit him. Those were not _their_ colors, both were a few shades darker than their vibrant trademarks. Those colors were representative of someone else, and the discovery made him nauseated. What was happening?

Edward looked at the time on the nearest clock: five past eight. Whatever this meant, it was happening in less than two hours.

He reread the note a couple of times. There was something eerily familiar to it, or part of it at least. The worm and the bird, the man and the refusal…

“Oswald!” Ed ran into the dining room, hardly able to believe what he’d just deduced.

“What’s wrong, Ed?” Oswald regarded him with alarm. A pang of guilt swept through him upon seeing his friend’s expression; he had to calm himself if he wanted to keep Oswald unknowing of the note.

“Nothing at all,” he assured, ignoring the omelettes and pancakes waiting for him at the table, “I was just wondering, whatever happened to my old apartment?”

“The one at Grundy?” Ed nodded “Oh, well, I’m sorry I never told you; I bought it after hearing you were sent to Arkham for framing Gordon. The building survived the bombing and the place is still under my name.”

“You bought it? Why?”

“It’s where we became friends, I couldn’t just let it disappear,” Oswald confessed. “You saved my life there and helped me get back on my feet. I ordered for it to be kept exactly as you’d left it. A crew goes to clean it every other day.”

Ed felt the love he had for this man fill his entire being and break through the limits he thought couldn’t be surpassed. His lovely, sentimentalist Penguin.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked in almost a whisper.

“I meant to, a long time ago, but never got the chance.” Oswald’s plump cheeks turned rosy as he averted his gaze. Ed smiled tenderly at the bashful bird.

And, then, he remembered the note.

“I need to borrow a car and the keys to the apartment.”

“Now? You haven’t even had breakfast yet,” Oswald remarked, dumbfounded.

“I’ll eat something when I get back.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No!” Ed shouted, rushed and loud enough to make Oswald jump in his seat. Ed cleared his throat and tried again “I- I want to visit it on my own first, just to refresh my memories. We’ll go together another day, okay?”

“Are you sure?” Oswald moved his eyes over him as if trying to find a lie written somewhere on his suit; he had never hated Penguin’s keen eye for body language until now.

“I promise.” He called upon the confidence of the Riddler to reply –he had to sound honest. “It won’t take long, I’ll be back before lunch.”

“All right, the key is inside the drawer of the coat closet; it has a green keyring.” Oswald kept studying him, but he refused to give anything away “Do you want Henry to drive you?”

“No, thank you!” Ed said before rushing out of the dining room and back to the closet. He picked up the package and the key so fast he almost lost his grip on both when closing the front door after him. He just hoped that Oswald would believe him enough not to send someone to follow after him.

There was a car outside of the garage, the same one they had used to go to dinner last night. Henry, their driver, was cleaning the windshield dutifully. Too bad Ed had to interrupt him.

“Henry, I need the car.”

“Where would you like me to take you, Mr. Nygma?” The middle-aged man asked politely, fixing his rolled-up sleeves.

“Nowhere, I’m driving,” Ed declared, extending his hand, “I need the keys, please.”

Henry raised a bushy, black eyebrow but didn’t ask any more questions, giving the keys to Ed with a sigh. The windshield still needed to dry, but he didn’t care.

The Riddler wasted no time getting on the road. Jeremiah seemed to have a fascination with explosions and he was _not_ going to let that madman destroy such an important place. He drove as fast as he could without breaking the law; the last thing he needed was to be pulled over that morning. At least, it was a pretty lazy time for Gotham’s drivers and he was able to make it to Grundy in just under twenty minutes.

Ninety minutes to go.

He parked a couple of blocks away and neared his old home on foot in an attempt to draw less attention. The building had a different exterior and the letters at the very top were, obviously, new but they still lit up in a lively green tone. Nostalgia tugged at his chest. How long had it been since the last time he was here? Thirteen years? A little more? His memory had suffered in Arkham with some details, at least he was back to training it now.

With the package in his hands, he reached the heavy metal door. The shrill sound of moving metal was more welcoming than annoying. The smell of chemicals and fake floral fragrances flooded his nose as the apartment came into view; it was very similar to how the place used to smell when he inhabited it, the brand of floor cleaner was probably different but nothing too jarring.

His first step inside his old place took him on a trip to the past. True to his word, Oswald had left everything the way it had been placed that last morning before he left: From the perfectly made bed to the rag he had used to clean the counter with before leaving for work. He had never considered himself a sentimentalist, had convinced himself, long ago, that holding onto inanimate objects was a waste of space. Now, he couldn’t help but think that, perhaps, he had underestimated the importance of certain possessions.

Ed would have loved to take more time to appreciate everything around him but, as he turned to close the door behind him, he found another note taped there. How the hell did Valeska get into his apartment? Actually, he knew _how_ he got in, a better question would be _how dare he_? He opened the folded paper to find another message:

 

_“Is this the Police?”_

_“Yes, how may I help you?”_

_“I was robbed inside my house! Please come, right now!”_

_“Can’t it wait? It’s lunchtime.”_

_“No! Just get over here!”_

_“Fine, order three large pizzas and we’ll see you in thirty.”_

 

Ed quickly deduced what the note implied. Did that mean the police would arrive in thirty minutes from now? No, if he wanted Ed to play then he wouldn’t pressure him with only half an hour to participate. Was he saying the cops would be there at 10? Couldn’t be that either, why invite someone external just to have them possibly killed in an explosion not meant for them? 

Only one option then: The GCPD would make their appearance thirty minutes before the deadline to stop the bomb with enough time to spare. He didn’t have ninety minutes.

He had sixty.

While he was confident that he would be able to fix all this much sooner than that, he still felt insulted that Jeremiah dared to treat him like some lab rat. And he got even more irritated with the thought that, perhaps, Valeska wanted him to encounter the cops and get him taken into the precinct as the main suspect. He’d have to try harder than that if he wanted to fool Edward Nygma again.

He could think about that later: He had to focus now. With one deep, slow breath to clear his mind of the stress and the anger, he set to work.

First things first: Where could the bomb be?

Both messages were about food so, the kitchen or dining table. He made a quick search inside the cupboards and under the table until he finally found the c4 inside the oven. The clown really was crazy: He had to be extra careful now.

The timer was ticking down and, while the deadline was still a ways away, it did nothing to calm his nerves. The thing was firmly attached to the back of the oven and there was no sign that it could be removed easily. He fetched the flashlight from his side-table and the toolbox in his closet and got on his knees in front of the oven, sticking his head in and using the grill for balance.

All the cables were hidden under a plastic plate that took him almost ten minutes to cut through and take down. There were thirteen cables to choose from. If Jeremiah was someone fond of repetition (and, considering his need to go back to Ace Chemicals, he certainly was), then that meant he had to find the cables that were different. Among the sea of yellow cables, there were four red ones.

It seemed Valeska was no stranger to symbolism. The number of blood, death, for some cultures.

“Very well, my ugly friend, this should be easy,” Ed said to himself. He was completely sure none of those cables would make the bomb blow up immediately so he went ahead and cut them one after the other without glancing at the timer.

The beeping stopped after cutting the third red cable, but he still cut the last one just to make sure that it was all taken care of. Just when he started smiling to himself, a loud clack startled him into attention. The bomb came loose but didn’t fall off the oven. Cautiously, Ed took it out, only to find yet another note stuck to it:

 

_A sad man was sitting outside, staring at the sky:_

_“Please give me a sign that I still have time.”_

_A heavenly voice spoke back at him:_

_“How much time do you need?”_

_“Enough to be loved by my dear.”_

_“Sorry, you only get one life each.”_

 

Well, there’s no comedy without misery, he supposed. The game was still going: Outside it was.

Ed had expected there to be a couple of devices similar to the one he found inside. He, _instead_ , found seven of them, one on each of the letters fixed onto what used to be his terrace.

“Oh, crud.” Now he understood why the note had to do with life: This could end in something fatal for him.

He could turn away, let the cops get there and let them do the job of deactivating all the bombs… Except, they wouldn’t; they _couldn’t_ . The plan with the police wasn’t for them to deactivate the explosives, it was to give them time to evacuate the building: His apartment would blow up _unless_ he got rid of all the bombs himself.

And he was going to do it.

Off went his hat, jacket and vest; safely resting on the dining table. He rolled up his black sleeves, went inside to retrieve his old ladder and started working on the top letters first. He had less than fifty minutes to finish. With the help of repetition, he could reduce the time it took him to take off the plastic plate by 50% after the first three: It would take him exactly fifty minutes to take off all of them… Assuming nothing else happened while he worked.

 _‘Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down…’_ Part of his mind repeated like a mantra while the rest of his mind was preoccupied with his objective.

He didn’t think on the time it took him to get the first plate off, he just cut the red cables and moved onto the “a”. He felt like a koala hanging from a tree; his legs still rested on the ladder but his arms surrounded a part of the letter to have the best possible leverage. His hands were sweaty under his gloves and his brow was no better; he kept drying it with the back of his hand before the salty drops could reach his eyes.

He had thought his mind would be crowded by now. His own voice in his head telling him to just give up: This was a place he had left long ago and the only thing he was proving was that Jeremiah knew where to look to get him to “play”. But there was no voice, his entire self wanted to preserve his old apartment. The apartment Oswald kept like a precious treasure for over ten years and which held good memories to him. To _them_.

He wasn’t going to let that psychopath destroy it.

With newfound determination, Ed’s movements became more stable and much faster. His fear of falling to his demise was long forgotten, overridden by his perseverance. Nothing was going to ruin his new life, even less the ruination of one of the few good mementos of his past.

Two...three...four...five down.

He heard the sirens just as he was finishing with the sixth plate. He hated to miscalculate, even more so when the error was minimal. The GCPD was just a few blocks away, he had to hide before anyone saw him. He should run; there was only one device active and the police were surely capable enough to have it disarmed in half an hour.

Why risk it, though?

He tried to stay as out of sight as possible with the last bomb. With it placed on the lower curve of the “s”, it was likely not many would be able to see it from the street; he just had to look out for those meddlesome neighbours. He didn’t feel like throwing _another_ person out of a window.

“Come on, come on.” He murmured, clenching his jaw. The cars were getting closer and closer and he could bet there were already reporters following them. He had to get out of there.

With a victorious exclamation, he finally took the plate off and cut the cables so fast he almost pinched his finger.

He’d done it! Now he just had to get out.

A peek down at the street confirmed the presence of the media and also showed him a group of uniformed officers entering the building one after the other. He had two minutes before the first one got to his door. He had no time to return the ladder so he just picked up his toolbox and practically flung it under the bed in his race to pick up his clothes and the box –not before taking out the beakers and placing the first bomb he’d defused inside. Maybe he could find something useful back at the mansion.

He opened the entrance door just enough to slip through it and ran to the closest emergency exit: No cops would be guarding the fire escape with all of them focused on getting to the explosives as soon as possible.

He was panting halfway down the stairs but it seemed no one had seen him. He could hear the commotion on every floor he passed; people were already being evacuated as a precaution. Perfect. The more people in the streets, the easier it would be to blend in.

He jumped when his phone started ringing in his pocket. He knew who was calling before he saw the name on the screen, his chest filling with affection and dread at the same time: He couldn’t let Oswald know what had happened.

“Oswald?” He asked after taking a deep breath. He continued descending at a slower pace and covered the speaker of his phone with his long fingers so Oswald wouldn’t hear him gasping for air.

 _“Ed? I’m watching the news, they say there’s a bomb in your apartment?!”_ The Penguin sounded distressed and Ed hated making him worry like that.

“There is?” He faked his surprise. “I’m still on my way to Grundy.”

_“You’ve been gone for over an hour, what do you mean you’re still on your way?”_

“I got really hungry on my way there after all and stopped at a small diner to grab breakfast.” At least Riddler wasn’t failing with the lies, handling it all rather smoothly.

 _“So you ran out on a home-made breakfast to eat at some cheap diner_ ?” Oswald’s disgust seeped through the phone and Ed suppressed a smile, _“No matter, you are all right, then?”_

“Perfectly, I suppose I won’t be able to visit today after all.”

 _“Come right back home. If they find anything I will make sure to hunt down the rat who broke in and make them beg for a quick death.”_ Edward’s breath caught in his throat; so torture, eh? Maybe they could do it together, have Jeremiah pleading for mercy to them both like they had had a certain lackey all those years ago.

It had been far too long.

“I’m on my way.”

With long steps and a few careful looks around, he made it back to the car without being spotted. Despite the police likely messing up his whole apartment, he knew Oswald would make it his business to see everything would be in tip-top shape in no time. Ed loved him a little more for that.

His high spirits dropped like a rock, however, when he spotted the black paper trapped under a windshield wiper. Did that heathen mess with the car while he was away?

 

_Hello, my green friend, I hope you remember me._

_I’ve been so stressed lately and thought of having a little fun!_

_I hope you feel honoured to have been invited into my game._

_I gave you an easy challenge this time to test you,_

_as was expected, you did very well; I’m satisfied._

_I’m already preparing your next game,_

_rest assured that it will be more demanding than this._

_Oh! And you can bring friends to join the party;_

_the more the merrier!_

_Although, I can’t guarantee their safety._

_Then again, I can’t guarantee yours either._

_Expect my next gift soon, I know you’ll love it!_

 

Ed’s self-control was just barely enough to keep him from ripping the note on the spot and stomping on it. What did Jeremiah want with him? Hadn’t he done enough already?

The worst part was that he knew about Oswald. Valeska was sure Ed would tell him everything soon and threatened to hurt him. He could rip his hair out in one tug, it wasn’t possible! The fucking clown was using him for fun!

… And he was letting him.

Fine, he would play the game then. For now.  
But soon, he’ll find Jeremiah. He’ll capture him and make him pay for ever _thinking_ he could make The Riddler his jester. Then, it’ll be _his_ moment to have fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Ed has to go to another place from his past and now he has to give up more than his intelligence to pass.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated.


End file.
